Born Wild and Free
by evizyt
Summary: Ginny Weasley is a free soul who follows the beat of her own drummer. But where does he lead her? As told by Molly Weasley, non DH compliant, Draco-Ginny.


**Born Wild and Free**

As told by Mary Prewett Weasley

Of course she was spoiled, being the only girl in the family. Of course she was overlooked, being the youngest of many. And naturally, she managed to hold a special place in all of our hearts, always reserved for her. She adored Charlie and Bill, who doted on her as only big brothers can. She hero-worshipped Fred and George, who began to teach her everything they knew at the tender age of three. And she fought constantly with Ron and Percy, who taught her the finer points of tavern brawling before she was even walking, I'm sure. All in all, we were a happy family.

She was the most beautiful child I've ever seen. Golden curls, baked-brown skin and the fattest butterball, she still managed to outrun all her brothers and always scraped by with the biggest piece of dessert. Her legs were little tree trunks that wobbled when she took her first unsteady steps, and she never seemed to have any teeth. She would play outdoors for hours on end and trek back in with her lobster red brothers, while her skin maintained a sun-baked glow. Her hair was absolutely platinum, and curled in all the right places. The only thing that reminded me vaguely that she was, indeed, my child, were the bright, perceptive blue orbs that winked from beneath large black eyelashes. 

Everywhere she went, she spread happiness and joy. Her tiny nose and eager smile made even the most crabby of us want to laugh and sing, much like she did. She made Ron teach her how to make daisy chains, and cried for hours if Percy wouldn't teach her how to read her latest book. She clapped pudgy hands whenever Bill picked her up and spun her around, and always gave me encouraging words from a filled mouth when tasting my cooking. I don't know what we would have done without her laughter during those long, hard years. Something about Ginny simply lifted a burden off you for a while, as if she was volunteering to carry it with her sunny smile. We always knew she was going to be beautiful, but like the most gorgeous of all, she took her time about it. I'll admit, I had my doubts for a while. 

She looked nothing like anything until she turned eight. I remember crying on the day when her sun bleached hair began to darken, slowly turning to red. I'm sure I wept on the day when her pudgy stomach and wobbly thighs were gone in favor of knobble knees and elbows. We have pictures of me bawling when the first freckle appeared on her steadily paling nose, despite the fact that it was midsummer. She was the most awkward, pitiful pre-teen. Her long legs and skinny arms reminded me of a deer trapped in a cage, and I remember she spent a lot of time outside, those few years. She would have been an excellent runner. She became friends with all the animals in our local wood, running with the deer and swimming like a fish in the nearby lake while her brothers floundered conspicuously. 

We all wondered when it would run out. We all sort of assumed that one day she would run out of steam, and things would go back to normal and everyone could be mildly depressed when they wanted too. I don't usually admit to being wrong, but in this case I'm sure we're all glad. The sunny smiles continued, becoming fuller and whiter as the years went on, and we began to see hints of the high Prewett cheekbones in her rapidly thinning cheeks. Her lips were always a beautiful red, but the biggest surprise of all were her eyes, and the way they remained, large, blue, and curious, a shock in her now pale face.

By the time she was fourteen though, she looked nothing like the days of early childhood, nor even vaguely resembled her awkward, pre-teen self. She was tall and retained a sense of effortless grace, as if she floated everywhere she went. Her hair, once a platinum blonde, and later a light strawberry, was a deep, dark auburn that contained hints of chestnut and highlights of blonde. It fell loosely down her back in a waterfall of color and softness. She was never fat again, like she was as a child, but her tall, slim, frame filled out to the extent where she no longer had knobble elbows, and bony knees were a thing of the past. But the largest shock always remained her face. The elegant, small nose and high cheekbones, the large blue eyes framed by long lashes and the high forehead. She was the definition of aristocracy and class, although I'm fairly sure I'm the only one who saw it. She hid it well, slouching in baggy pants and T-shirts, pulling her hair back in to messy ponytails and loose braids. To this day, I remain unsure to as whether she couldn't see it herself, or if she was too shy to flaunt her newfound beauty.

She began to dance and sing again after her fifth year. She wore tighter pants and muggle tanktops, swirling around the Burrow with her hair fanning about her, crooning lovely melodies and performing ballet moves I never found out how she learned. We adored her even more for it, the soft dance steps and gentle singing filling the house that summer. I found I missed it when she was gone, or sitting down. Ever since he began to notice her, like really notice her, I had known that Harry was not for my daughter. She had so far outgrown him, with her graceful, happy and firey demeanor and beauty. His thin frame and messy hair were no longer what she would look for, being a young woman of sixteen. I knew it wouldn't be him, and deep down, I knew it would also be a surprise. Our firey red head was never going to fall for someone tame. It didn't stop me hoping, I suppose, but I was never surprised that they broke it off and never really got it back going. 

I was ready, by then. The summer before her seventh year, I could tell something was happening, although I don't know if she could even tell herself. She wore makeup around the house sometimes, and spent more time outside then ever before. She showered for ridiculous amounts of time every day, and began going to bed early and waking up late. She was happier then ever, chirpier, and radiant. She positively glowed, and I watched her accost poor Ron with her smile, and he nearly fell down the stairs. She was a formidable weapon, and I secretly wished her the best of luck against whoever she was launching her attack. Even the most fortified heart would have stopped at a flick of those eyelashes, only to restart again by a glowing smile from that mouth. A pretty wink and honeyed giggle later, and even Fred and George would be willing to get down on one knee for her. 

Oh no, it was never her I was worried about. It was the unknown man, whom I was sure she had it in for. This mystery man, who would never know what hit him. I've never been sure whether I was ultimately surprised or not. I knew I would never really have any input on her choice, but I suppose if I had I wouldn't have been able to stop her anyways. She began to tryst with him shortly after seventh year ended. She was gone for longer and longer periods of time during the day, and came back looking exhausted and significantly ruffled. I wondered what was going on, but I knew she would tell me eventually. Then one day she was gone all day, and instead of coming back tired and strange she was everywhere, bouncing and running, jumping and screaming, shouting at all her brothers and then hugging them like she had when she was little. Her skin glowed, her hair shone, and her eyes reflected the sparkle of the diamond on her finger I'm sure I would have seen if I had been looking. And that was the end. She told us all the next day, and I'm not yet sure whether Ron has fully recovered from turning so purple so fast. 

She looked absolutely glorious on her wedding day. The large, flattering white dress with puffy sleeves, and his neat muggle tuxedo with a white jacket. They complemented each other perfectly, with her flaming waves and his glaringly pale curls. She smiled before he kissed her, and I can honestly state that was the happiest I have ever seen her. She practically glowed, radiating with a warmth that can only be true love. 

I don't know why, when, or even how. But I do know that it was ultimately the right decision, as he walked down the aisle with even more grace then her. 

And she didn't even have to keep her last name, to continue family lineage and all that. I mean, they're useless most of the time, but that's one thing six brothers are good for, anyways. 

I guess I never really thought my baby was going to grow up and marry, much less marry a Malfoy. But apparently she had, because as they walked off together their faces told me they had been planning this a long time. She was born wild 'n free, thattun, my father used to say when he was still alive. 

And when I went to my baby girl's funeral, so soon after her seemingly unending time of bliss, I remembered her happiness and her freedom and her joy. I hugged Draco Malfoy and their tiny daughter, who looked so like my own, and those words of so long ago came back so clearly. I climbed on the podium, my speech forgotten, those words and her laughter riniging in my ears. 

"She was born wild 'n free, thattun," I said, a tear coursing down my cheek. "She did what she came here to do, and more. She turned a bad man good, and many good men better. I never knew anyone happier than my baby girl," I continued, almost sobbing now. "She was happy until the second she died, and I'll bet she was a'laughin', doing the thing she loved best above all others, thinking of her husband and daughter, with her hair blowing behind her (she never wore a helmet) and the leather clothing we teased her about hugging her every inch. She never made a decision I could have called a bad decision, and I've never seen her cry." I finished truthfully. And looking out over the sea of mourners, crying for my baby, I realized something. "She did what had to be done, and left. Free spirits can never be tied down for long. She was never ours to keep, but the love she left us is." And I stepped down, smiling, knowing that we were all blessed for knowing Ginny Weasley Malfoy for the short amount of time that she could stay. 

And as the years pass, memories fade, but I'll always remember the scent of flowers and the sounds of laughter and love which seemed to permanently reside in her wake.

**A/N: Oh gosh, that made me sad now : (. Oh, and the insinuation is that duh, she married Malfoy and that she died in a motorcycle accident. Ya know, the whole free spirit thing? Random..New Hampshire motto, Live free or die, and how they refuse to where motorcycle helmets there? Yes I know she lived in London but same idea…. Bear with me here. **

**And Molly is a nickname for Mary (as is Polly--I know right! But that's my nickname even if my name isn't Mary, but I ought to know anyways I spose. And did anyone know that Jim was a nickname for James? And Cindy, for Esther? And Eben, for Everett?) But yeah anways, MollyMary I'm assuming. **


End file.
